


I looked over it and I ached

by Scarlett_Rogue



Series: Non-Human Jaskier [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, Geralt is worried, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is confused, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier, Siren Jaskier | Dandelion, Siren!Jaskier, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Rogue/pseuds/Scarlett_Rogue
Summary: Something is happening to Jaskier. His body is changing, becoming less human by the day. Even Geralt doesn’t know what Jaskier is; that is, until he does.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Non-Human Jaskier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653451
Comments: 33
Kudos: 1409





	I looked over it and I ached

The changes started small, or that’s what Geralt tried to convince him. Elongated, sharp canines weren’t what Jaskier would call _small_. He found that he was catching his lip more often than not, his mouth speckled with the taste of blood. And when the light hit his teeth they radiated a bright white that felt as unsettling as the sharpness, possibly more.

“Come on,” Geralt growled. He’d already packed up his belongings from their room in the small inn they’d stayed at, but Jaskiers remained scattered about the room. Geralt grunted and started to pick them up himself.

“Whoa, hey there!” Jaskier finally pulled away from his reflection when he witnessed Geralt shoving his belongings in his back unceremoniously. He yanked the bag away with a smile and packed quickly but gently. “What are we going to do about...this?”

“Hmm,” was his only answer.

“Geralt, I have...fangs! You can’t just ‘hmm’ me!”

“I don’t know Jaskier, but we’ll figure it out together. On the road,” he added pointedly. 

Jaskier closed his mouth hard, wincing as his teeth cut through his lip again. That was going to take some getting used to. He tied his bag up, packed his lute safely, and followed Geralt out of the room. 

Maybe this was a one off change. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and they’d be gone. Maybe.

—

He wasn’t so lucky. When he woke the next morning on the hard, cold ground, Geralt already having packed for the day and attached his bags to Roach, Jaskier’s teeth felt...wrong. More wrong than the day before. He (very gently) ran his tongue over them and found that not only had his canines grown from the day before, his incisors had joined the party.

“They’re no longer,” Geralt said, studying his mouth after Jaskier had come to him in a panic. “But they _are_ more sharp.”

“This can’t be happening Geralt, why is this happening?!”

Geralt searched his face for a moment, a look in his eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite identify, before he placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Let’s wait and see. If anything else changes we’ll head to the nearest mage for a second opinion. Come on, we have a long day ahead of us.”

“Ugh, you’re no help, Geralt! What if I’m stuck like this? How are we going to make ends meet when the bard has horrifying teeth?”

Geralt turned his back and headed for Roach. “They’re not horrifying. Just odd.”

Jaskier continued to bemoan his situation as they made their way down the road, with varying degrees of responses from Geralt. Okay, so maybe the responses were slim to none, but it helped to hear himself speak. It made him feel like himself.

—

Days had passed. Nothing changed. Jaskier found that his new teeth made it easier for him to rip stubborn meat apart, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he could do some damage with these teeth if he really wanted to. 

Everything else had remained boringly, blissfully the same. 

Until one night when it didn’t.

Jaskier had venison on a stick, not his favorite meal but he couldn’t exactly be picky out in the wilderness. He was, as usual, talking Geralt’s ear off about a new song he was composing, something about love’s aching bite, when he took a bite of venison and swallowed.

“Imagine it, Geralt, a crowd of beautiful maidens, eyes captivated, bosoms out, craving-“

The sudden pain was like a punch to the gut. Jaskier dropped his stick of meat and kneeled over, gasping for breath.

“Jaskier?!” To his satisfaction Geralt was by his side in a heartbeat, one hand on Jaskier’s back. It wouldn’t do, though. The pain was spreading through his insides, rejecting his meal. He shoved Geralt’s hand away and bolted to the nearest tree. He clutched the thick wood, doubled over, and emptied the contents of his stomach in the grass. 

It took some time for his stomach to calm down. By that point he felt hollow. He gasped and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Geralt was standing by his side silently, not sure if he should be hovering. After all, a little sickness now and then happens. 

“I’m okay,” Jaskier mumbled, voice weak.

“Are you sure?”

Jaskier choked out a laugh. “My dear Witcher, so protective. I’ll be fine, just...just don’t agree with venison I suppose.”

“We had venison less than a week ago,” Geralt pointed out. “You were fine then.”

Jaskier pulled himself into a standing position. His legs felt unsteady. “Guess it’s just my luck tonight. I’ll let my stomach settle before I eat anything more.”

He patted Geralt’s shoulder and shakily went to set up his bedroll, the desire for food long gone.

—

It happened again the following morning. Jaskier barely paid attention to what Geralt had given him for breakfast, but it didn’t matter. It ended up on the ground by the tree as well.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” It was meant as a joke but Jaskier could hear the poorly disguised worry under the words.

“Shut up,” he laughed anyway, even though it hurt his stomach that much more. “Probably just a stomach bug.”

“Hmm.”

He caught his breath and steadied himself for the journey ahead. To his surprise, Geralt made him hold onto Roach as he walked, supposedly to prevent him from collapsing. Big worry wart. 

—

The third day it happened, Jaskier was getting pissed and Geralt was beyond worried. The list of foods Jaskier’s stomach couldn’t handle was growing. Tonight it was wild turkey. As he threw up on the side of the road he groaned, knees bent, his forehead covered in sweat.

“We need a healer,” Geralt said.

All Jaskier could do was whine in agreement.

The next town they reached was small and quiet. Geralt stopped to ask where the local healer was and, after the man nervously pointed in the right direction, was off with Jaskier right behind him.

The frustrating part of all this was that Jaskier felt fine. Truly, he didn’t feel feverish or weak apart from the weakness caused by not eating for three days. He anxiously ran his tongue over his teeth, a habit he was beginning to form. His canines thankfully barely cut his lip or tongue anymore, the skin having thickened in a surprisingly short amount of time.

The healer, predictably, was of no help. He confirmed Jaskier’s suspicions.

“There is nothing physically wrong with him. He is just very, very hungry.”

His stomach growled right on cue and Jaskier grabbed at his shirt, knuckles almost white, to push away the hunger pains.

“He just needs to eat,” the healer said. Jaskier barked out a laugh at the same time as Geralt snarled.

“Did you not hear me? He can’t eat. He throws up whatever goes into his body!”

“I’m sorry,” the healer said, now sounding just a bit afraid. “But you’ll need to contact a mage at this point. I can’t treat what isn’t physical.”

Geralt huffed and pulled Jaskier out of the tent. Naturally the town had no mage, but he’d been informed that the next town over did. He helped Jaskier up onto Roach, his legs too weak to carry him very far, and they made their way back onto the road again.

—

“We haven’t tried rabbit yet,” Geralt settled himself down in front of the fire. The town they were headed to was further than they predicted and the night wasn’t safe to travel. Jaskier had insisted on stopping to sleep. With a grunt Geralt agreed. He was now holding small, plump rabbits in his hands. He set them down and prepared the skewers.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what came over him. Something dark turned in his stomach and, before he had time to think about his actions, he lunged forward. The rabbit was in his hands in a second. Another second and he was digging his canines into the poor dead thing, ripping it open. His stomach practically sang as he feasted. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his shirt but he paid it no mind. Every bit of raw meat he swallowed sat comfortably in his stomach and he felt stronger, more steady.

When there was little left of the creature he let it fall to the ground. His hands were streaked with blood. He idly wiped them on his red pants. 

It was only then that he looked up and noticed Geralt watching him silently, eyes wide. Now that he was in his right mind he surveyed the last few minutes.

“Holy fuck,” he practically squeaked. “Did that just - I just - Geralt!”

Geralt studied him for a moment. “How’s your stomach feeling?”

“It- it feels...fine. Good.”

“Hmm.” He skewered his own rabbit and Jaskier blushed, eyes cast down, aware now of how weird all of that must have looked. No, not weird. Feral.

“Looks like you’re on a raw diet from now on,” Geralt said casually. Jaskier snorted but in his head he agreed. He felt full and energized for the first time in four days. Even if it was gross, he wasn’t going to complain.

He would, however, silently complain about the part of him that enjoyed the taste of blood a little too much.

—

“Fuck!” 

Jaskier wasn’t sure if it came from himself or Geralt or both, but either way it was worrisome. They’d run into a gang of thieves on the road, six at least, and it should have been relatively easy for Geralt. For his part Jaskier stood back and watched, aware that he would just get in the way. Geralt jabbed a thief with the blunt end of his sword, instantly knocking him out, before his hands shot forward and stabbed another right in the throat. 

Jaskier sniffed the air, the unmistakable smell of blood lingering around them, suffocating the smell of something else, something human. Something that smelled far too close for comfort.

“Scream and I’ll kill you on the spot,” he heard from behind him; he felt a sharp blade pressing against his spine. He sucked in a breath.

“Give me the horse and I’ll be on my way,” the man grunted. Jaskier watched as Geralt danced around blade after blade, his attention miles away from Jaskier. Jaskier tasted something in the back of his throat. It almost tasted like blood.

“Hurry up!”

Something in him snapped. He twisted around so fast that the man didn’t have time to react. Jaskier grabbed the sword by its blade. It dug into his hand and made him bleed but he barely felt it. He threw the sword away from the man, snarled, and threw himself forward with all the strength he had. They toppled over, Jaskier pressing the man into the ground by his neck. The next thing he was aware of was the sound of the man’s screams, and the overwhelming burst of blood in his mouth. He felt the way the man struggled to break free. He pierced his neck deeper with his sharp canines and drank, drank until the man went limp, until Jaskier’s eyes rolled back and he hummed with satisfaction, until he felt someone grab him by the shoulders and haul him off the now dead thief.

Jaskier snarled again and attempted to attack whoever had grabbed him. His arms were twisted behind his back and held in a vice grip that forced him to stop moving.

“Jaskier, it’s me. It’s Geralt.”

Hearing that name, that deep rumbling voice, brought Jaskier back to his senses. His face and chin were stained with blood, his body felt hot, but worst of all, he felt...satisfied.

“Geralt,” he whispered. It sounded foreign to his own ears, higher and lighter than his usual tone. Strong, though he felt scared beneath it. 

His eyes never left the dead man below him, neck ripped open, skin pale, bled out on the cold ground. 

“What the fuck have I done?”

“We need to keep moving.”

“But, Geralt-“

“It’s going to be okay,” he breathed into Jaskier’s ear, chest still pressed close to his back. “We can talk about this once we’ve got some distance. Let’s go.”

He released Jaskier’s hands; Geralt’s hands momentarily slid down his arms, pausing at the hands before he pulled away. Jaskier sighed and trudged behind Geralt, his insides simultaneously curling in disgust and dancing with joy.

—

“Let’s review then,” Geralt said across the fire. He was pulling meat from a cooked rabbit. Jaskier waved off dinner, still full from the blood he’d consumed earlier. The thought made his stomach turn.

“First your teeth grow sharp and long. Next, you tear through a rabbit like it’s a piece of fruit. Then you drain a man clean of his blood.” Jaskier winced; hearing it out loud made it so much worse. “And then there’s your voice.”

“What’s wrong with my voice?”

“It’s...changing. Getting higher and lighter. I don’t know how to describe it, but it sounds very warm.”

Huh, so he hadn’t been imagining it earlier.

“And you smell off. Not like yourself.”

“What’s happening to me, Geralt?” Even his whining sounded beautiful.

Geralt stared into the fire for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on.

“I think,” he said slowly. “that you’re not human.”

“What?! But of course I am! I have human parents, you’ve smelled the human on me-“

“No, I’ve smelled the orange blossom and almond oil on you. Your actual scent, your _natural_ scent, has always been difficult to pick out. But it’s getting stronger. And it doesn’t smell, well…”

“It doesn’t smell what?”

“Human. It doesn’t smell human.”

Jaskier rubbed his hands through his hair furiously, as if to scrub the memories of today out of my mind.

“So what am I, then? Am I some sort of monster?”

He waited, silence growing between them, for Geralt to tell him that no, he wasn’t a monster, he could never be a monster.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, soft and pained.

And somehow that hurt so much more.

—

Geralt no longer forced Jaskier to stay back when he was on a job. In some ways it was a relief; he’d finally felt like less of a burden to the Witcher. In other ways it made him nervous. He’d only joined the fight once more after the time with the thief, and he’d ended up clawing the eye out of a monster. When he stared down at his hands he noticed his fingernails had grown a surprising length, the edges sharp and deadly. He was happy to see them morph back to their normal, well-groomed state, but blood still lingered under his nails. Geralt noticed but said nothing.

It was Geralt’s silence that had Jaskier the most worried. What if he was some kind of monster? Was Geralt questioning his choice to continue traveling with him? Was he hoping to ditch him in the next town they stopped in? Was Jaskier more of a liability now?

...would Geralt kill him, if given the chance?

That last question kept him up into the early hours of the morning. He didn’t sleep well these days, not with all the changes in his body. 

“Nice eyes,” Geralt said one day after Jaskier jumped in to help him with a particularly pissed off kikimora.

“Thanks, I got them from my mother!” He said cheerily. They’d barely spoken that day, but it was nice to hear Geralt’s voice again.

“I doubt your mother had these eyes. Or maybe she did, who knows.”

Jaskier cocked his head to the side. Later he found a reflective surface and stared at his eyes until his vision blurred. They were still their usual striking blue, but now there was a bright white circle that wrapped around his pupil, close but not quite touching. They were beautiful, but yet another sign that Jaskier wasn’t human anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

—

He hadn’t touched his lute in a few weeks, since this whole possibly-a-monster business began. Even now he only stared at it. He preferred to listen instead to the waves crashing over rocks. The shore looked beautiful this time of day, the sun ever so slowly making its way down and casting orange light upon the surface. Jaskier sniffed the air, his senses heightened. It smelled like home.

Geralt sat next to him and wordlessly cleaned his swords.

“I used to compose by the water,” Jaskier said suddenly. “It was my favorite place to get away from everything and just be.”

Geralt didn’t say anything but his eyes were on Jaskier. A few days ago he would have said they were cautious, but now he could tell that they were curious. 

“I had this piece I used to sing every time I visited. Never sang it for anyone else, it was never meant for anyone else. Just me.”

“Can you sing it,” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier grinned. “You’re the only exception,” he nudged the man, satisfied to get a small smirk out of him.

Staring into the water, he began to sing. There were no words, just alternating between syllables, but the melody carried. It was like soft humming dancing over waves. When he turned to gauge Geralt’s reaction he startled.

Geralt was staring at him, dazed, like he was staring at the moon for the first time. _Adoration_ , his brain helpfully provided. He kept singing, drunk on the way Geralt’s eyes seemed to sparkle with unshed tears. As his song came to a close he found himself just as entranced as Geralt seemed to be.

The Witcher blinked his yellow eyes several times in rapid succession, shaking his head. The dazed look disappeared but the adoration remained. Geralt’s lips turned up into an uncharacteristic smile.

“You’re a siren,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. Jaskier jerked his head away.

“A siren?!”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out, keeping tabs. I thought maybe you were a banshee but you never screamed so I couldn’t tell for sure. But this makes perfect sense.”

“Oh,” he said dumbly, trying to sift through the chaos that was his head. “Why didn’t I know sooner?”

“Sometimes it lays dormant until it’s safe for the traits to make an appearance.”

“I guess,” Jaskier said slowly, taking a risk, “my body decided that it was safe with you.”

“Hmm.”

Unhelpful response aside, Jaskier felt Geralt’s hand slide over his. He hummed, a rumble at the back of his throat, as he leaned his head on Geralt’s shoulder. He felt the tension leave the Witcher. Slowly, quietly, Jaskier began to hum a new tune. It carried through the air and filled the space with light.. 

Jaskier laced his fingers with Geralt’s. He was becoming something he never expected, never asked for, and yet he knew that things were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been itching to write non-human Jaskier so I hope you liked this :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ feraljaskier and send me fic prompts!


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